Chapter 19
“Milady, are you truly alright?”
“I’m fine.”
I folded the newspaper and handed it over to Sophie. Her worried expression felt more like pity, which made it even more miserable.
But what was truly miserable… was the fact that I could no longer see the man I loved by my side.
‘I’m still not sure if I’m truly a maid’s daughter, but until my identity is confirmed, I can’t go near him.’
Even though he had mocked me while I was imprisoned, I couldn’t bring myself to stop caring for him—because I had loved him knowing he was cold.
‘I never had high expectations to begin with. He treated me well only because I was “Estarion.”’
I decided not to be sure whose daughter I really was.
If Siena was the real daughter and I had taken her place all this time, I would apologize when the time came.
But from the start, my only fault in all this was that I had no memory.
The one who called me “Selena” was the Count. Not me.
‘There’s no need to apologize until the truth comes out.’
Shaking my head, I gave Sophie an instruction.
“Please tell the Duke—I wish to start the lessons as soon as possible, so I need to know how much he already knows.”
“Yes, please wait a moment.”
As soon as Sophie left and I was alone, a wave of fatigue washed over me. I leaned back against the headboard and closed my eyes.
Siena’s final words kept echoing in my head.
She had seen me as too soft. If she was truly the imposter, she shouldn’t have dropped such hints.
I had held back because they were my family and I saw them as victims who believed I had stolen their lives. That was all.
Then came a knock—soft, more like a tap.
“You may come in.”
The one who knocked was Sir Aiden. His hair was damp as if he had just showered.
His tanned skin glistened with moisture, while his jet-black eyes were as rough as gravel.
“You called for me. Oh, don’t bother getting up. I’m not so ignorant of manners that I’d expect a patient to rise.”
He ruffled his wet hair as he stepped inside.
“I didn’t expect you to come this quickly. I thought you’d visit tomorrow.”
“We live in the same house—what’s the point in waiting? Anyway, you want to know my level of education?”
His shirt, like his casual tone, was untidy—partly unbuttoned, the fabric hanging open just enough to reveal glimpses of his muscular chest. Embarrassed, I found myself looking down at the floor.
I made a mental note to remind him that once classes begin, proper attire will be mandatory at all times.
“Where should I start? It’s probably worse than you’d expect.”
“That’s okay.”
“You do know I’m completely illiterate, right?”
“Not even a little?”
“What kind of lowly slave learns letters? I’m lucky I can read numbers.”
“Numbers—”
“I know basic numbers. That alone is lucky, right? Otherwise, I’d be closer to a monkey than a man. So yeah, that’s about my level. You get the idea now?”
“It’s fine if you don’t know. You can just learn. Then let me ask you one more thing—are you aiming for the Imperial Ball a few months from now?”
Because he was so tall, just looking up at him cast a large shadow over me.
I stared straight up at him from within that shadow. Sir Aiden gave a crooked smile.
“Right. You got it. My goal is to climb up from a stray dog to a house guard dog.”
“Don’t say things like that.”
“You think those noble bastards will ever accept someone like me as their equal? No matter how much I mimic them, a stray dog is still a stray dog. So, being a well-trained mutt is the best I can hope for.”
His biting words left me speechless. It wasn’t as if he was wrong—I had nothing to refute.
“You know, I’m not ashamed of what I don’t know. I won’t be embarrassed over it either. I was born a slave, and just getting to this point is already impressive.”
“It’s not shameful not to know something. What’s shameful is refusing to learn.”
“Really? That’s a relief to hear. Oh right—speaking of levels.”
“Yes?”
“There’s one thing I do know.”
He found some parchment and a quill and began to write clumsily.
The way he held the quill…
His grip was incredibly awkward—his large, calloused hand clutched the delicate quill like a child unsure of their own strength, like he might snap it in two at any moment. It was… almost funny.
No, “funny” wasn’t quite the right word. His massive frame and large hand, wrapped around such a fragile thing—it was…
‘Cute.’
Even though he wasn’t someone I felt at ease with, seeing him frown so seriously over something like this was rather endearing.
I couldn’t let that show, so I held my expression firm. But as if he could see straight through me, he spoke in that sharp, sardonic tone.
“Just laugh. I know I look ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not ridiculous. I just… thought it suited you.”
“You’re a terrible liar. You don’t need to be so considerate. Anyway, this is the extent of my skills. If you can even call them that.”
He finished scrawling his name on the parchment in awkward strokes.
It looked no different from what a small child might write while first learning letters. Even he seemed uncomfortable seeing his name in writing.
Because he couldn’t control the pressure, the quill poked holes in the parchment. And yet, there was something odd about it.
‘The handwriting… looks like someone who’s known letters for a while.’
The shapes were clumsy, but the penmanship had a consistency—a practiced hand. It was clearly a habitual style.
Especially the slight curve at the end of each letter—it was a habit I had as well.
Who had taught him to write his name? It seemed like he had memorized the exact spelling and the original person’s writing habits.
“Do you not know how to write ‘Calypso’?”
Sir Aiden nodded. He showed no embarrassment in admitting it. I liked that about him—it felt like a promising start to learning.
“Now it’s your job to teach me. So, how do I write Calypso?”
His inky-black eyes seemed like they could pierce right through me, just like the quill had pierced the parchment.
His gaze wasn’t fiery, yet it simmered with a subtle, steady heat. I couldn’t read what he truly wanted.
‘Could it be… he genuinely wants to learn from me?’
‘No, don’t be ridiculous.’
Swallowing a sigh, I reached out to take the quill. He handed it to me, though now his fingers were stained with ink.
“You write ‘Calypso’ like this.”
I carefully wrote his surname on the parchment.
“Ca-lyp-so. This is the vowel for the ‘a’ sound.”
“Calypso…”
His eyes fixated on my hand. He seemed to be studying how to write his surname.
Just as I was about to write it again, he snatched the parchment away.
His gaze locked onto the word “Calypso,” and he grinned.
“I guess memorizing ‘Calypso’ is tonight’s homework.”
“Alright. We’ll start the lessons first thing tomorrow.”
“Great. But aren’t you going to ask?”
“Ask what?”
“Which crazy bastard taught a slave how to write.”
His tone was laced with sarcasm, but I sensed something beneath it.
I assumed he meant the Crown Prince.
Sir Aiden and His Highness had served together in the war.
Given the prince’s kind nature, he might’ve taken pity on Aiden and taught him.
“Was it His Highness?”
At my question, Sir Aiden scoffed loudly, almost disrespectfully. Then he replied,
“If it were him, don’t you think he would’ve taught me my surname too? I already had my surname when I met the Crown Prince on the battlefield. I learned to write while I was still a slave.”
The way he said it clearly showed that he wanted a reaction from me.
But I didn’t know what he expected, so I had to guess.
‘Is he hoping I’ll be surprised?’
Was he bragging that he could write his name? Did he want praise?
I thought about various possibilities, but none of them made much sense.
It was tiring to dwell on such thoughts, so I responded lightly.
“You had a good friend then.”
“Friend?”
“Yes. The friend who taught you your name. Someone literate.”
Sir Aiden’s lips twisted—not into a mocking smile, but more like an embarrassed one.
He ruffled his hair again, droplets of water flying. Then he replied in his usual laid-back tone.
“Well, whatever. It was more than ten years ago. Anyway…”
He changed the subject.
“There’s only one thing I want from you. Make me your equal.”
“It’ll be very difficult. I don’t say this out of pride, but…”
